


It Girl

by Sophia_Anne_Moore



Category: High School Musical (Movies)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-30
Updated: 2020-08-18
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:13:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25987222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sophia_Anne_Moore/pseuds/Sophia_Anne_Moore
Summary: Forced to abandon her private school throne in Molokai to become a new girl nobody in Albuquerque, Gabriella Montez-Kelekolio hungrily pursues East High's coveted Queen Bee title. Will she have what it takes to become the school's top 'It' girl?
Relationships: Troy Bolton/Gabriella Montez





	1. THRONE

**Author's Note:**

> Everything posted is subject to change because I'm a perfectionist and indecisive AF. If I change something or add anything important to a chapter, I promise to mention it in the next chapter's note. Sorry in advance if that's annoying.
> 
> Details worth mentioning:
> 
> \- Gabriella's POV  
> \- Multi-chapter  
> \- TROYELLA  
> \- Slow burn  
> \- Rated M for vulgarity and tons of sex scenes  
> \- Underage drinking and some drug use
> 
> Enjoy!

When Grandma asked to speak to Mom in private, I thought nothing of it. I suspected she had grown bored of the conversation, as had the rest of us, and fabricated some urgent gossip. The feast had lost its allure, and everyone was sluggish after our third Thanksgiving-sized servings — everyone except for my older cousin Kanela who was on strict diet orders from the modeling agency, and her mother Nani who had always been obsessed with maintaining the rail-thin figure from her own modeling days. Uncle David boasted about his real estate investments and explained the state of the housing market to my little sister Melanie. She was the last person to understand (or care) but polite enough to humor him with her attention. When Mom and Grandma, sat across and besides me at the very end of the table, slipped into the hallway mostly undetected, a sharp jolt of suspicion struck me, but quickly vanished like everything was as it always had been that night; average and boring.

I had forgotten their disappearing act until Mom returned a half hour later with red, teary eyes. "What's going on?" I asked her in a hushed voice as she reclaimed her spot across me.

Grandma stood at the head of the table. Slowly the side conversations subsided, the guests lowered their forks, and everyone's eyes fell on her. She said, "I wanted us to enjoy the holiday, but I'm afraid I can't keep it to myself any longer. I have breast cancer."

Aunt Nani broke down instantly, rushing by and throwing her twiggy arms around her. "What's cancer?" asked little cousin Oliver to his father, my Uncle Mele, the only soft voice in the room stunned to silence. Uncle Mele stuttered a vague explanation, so his wife Sharron took Oliver aside and told him in simple terms that grandma was very, very sick.

Mom stepped away and the room slowly began to move again. Cousin Kanela and her stepbrother Charlie approached our end of the table to offer their condolences. Aunt Anela, Mom's sister, offered to pay for a personal helper while she went through treatment, but Grandma shook her head and answered, "Lisa and her girls are relocating to Albuquerque."

"What?" I called out, cutting through their chatter like the crack of a whip. Grandma glanced at me briefly, but just then Aunt Nani burst into another round of dramatic sobs.

I rushed out and cornered my mother at the kitchen sink, defenseless with her arms buried in suds. "What does grandma mean we're moving to Albuquerque?"

She closed her eyes, wincing like she was in pain, and let out a labored sigh. "I didn't know what else to say, Gabriella."

"Did you try, ' _No?'_ " I pressed, "You need to fix this. I'm not leaving the island for _Albuquerque_. It's never happening." She didn't respond, and we didn't talk about it any longer.

The rest of the holiday passed in a haze. Grandma tried her best to twist the disappointing news into a toast to the _rest_ of her good health, but the night was already ruined. Aunt Nani continued to be unbearable, sobbing and snotting all over Grandma's blouse. Those two are close, Nani being my grandmother's favorite of all her children-in-laws, but _Christ…_ she wasn't up for an Oscar.

Long after the dinner table was cleared and the leftovers were evenly distributed amongst family, the attendees lingered. Everybody was either preoccupied with Grandma, watching the surfing channel, or lined up at the windows to see the storm outside. I just wished they would all vanish.

My little sister Melanie was standing alone in the halls leading to our bedrooms, leaning against the fish tank with a far-off gaze directed towards the party. "You okay?" I asked her.

"Yeah, it's just-" she trailed off.

"It's shocking," I told her. "You're supposed to feel shocked."

"How do you feel?"

"Annoyed," I confessed. "It's always something with Grandma Kulani. One fucking tragedy after another. I can't help but think she planned this."

"Planned what? _Cancer_?"

"No," I huffed, frustrated and annoyed with both her and myself for thinking she could possibly understand. I shut myself in my room and pieced together the timeline like red string dividing up a corkboard of plastered newspaper clippings. The conspiracy went something like this: Grandma gets diagnosed with cancer, Grandma calls up Mom to rekindle their relationship in time to join the family for Thanksgiving, then Grandma ruins the holiday and coerces Mom into helping her in Albuquerque. It was heinous, but that's my grandmother.

A few weeks passed before Mom brought it up again. I had convinced myself she had made everything right in the meantime. It was ten in the morning and she was perched at the bar, pouring herself a second glass of red wine. Nothing out of the ordinary. "I'm flying out soon," she slurred. "Grandma and I are looking at houses in Albuquerque."

"Grandma is moving?" I asked, still coating reality with a rose-tinted shade of denial.

"No, a house for us."

I was seething, and for the first time in forever, I let myself lose all restraint. It was a rage that no amount of explanation or words could convey, so I threw everything I could think of at her. Her alcoholism, the divorce, putting her work above Melanie and I, etcetera. It wasn't eloquent, either. Every sentence had at least one 'fuck' in it, and often the words got jammed into an unintelligible stammer. She carelessly flipped through a magazine and sipped her wine, unphased by my hysterical screaming.

Once I finished, she looked at me with a familiar drunk gaze, like she's looking straight through me, and slurred, "Well, I hope you feel better now." With a set of Louis Vuitton luggage rolling behind her, she left with the driver.

I had plans to meet with my friends for breakfast, but I canceled with a curt text to the group chat and turned off my phone. I skipped school and went to the beach instead. It was busier than usual since it had been storming all weekend and everyone had been cooped up inside to escape the torrential rainfall. Some pasty tourists burned themselves to a bright, painful cherry red shade while others sparkled white with uneven sunscreen. Moms chased their toddlers around the shore, and dad, designated photographer of the trip, captured their kids' first time at the beach. A few Instagram models posed in front of the water, backs arched with a pout. I looked for Nate amongst the surfers but found him resting in the hammocks instead. I called out his name and he nodded, carefully balancing as he sat up on the hammock.

"What's up, babe?" He asked and threw his arm around my shoulders. It felt stiff, like this gesture was him puppet-ing the role of boyfriend instead of truly being it. We had been fuck-buddies off and on for the past school year but only an official couple the last two months. The transition was awkward like this, him acting tense and me expecting better from him by now.

"It's fucking terrible. My grandma has cancer so we have to move to Albuquerque."

"Wow, that's-" he hesitated, "really bad."

I watched him carefully, gauging his face for any trace of genuine concern, but he caught my penetrating gaze and stiffened. "Yeah." It was the most neutral thing I could say with as annoyed as I was. Was I being ridiculous for expecting something more convincing? I was leaving _forever_. "It's whatever," I added, since he was too panicked or afraid to add anything else. He looked out to the water and said nothing. I gave him a minute to remedy the situation before I stood and walked towards the parking lot.

"Where are you going?" He asked, suddenly concerned like he should have been earlier.

"School, I guess."

"Are you mad?"

"Why would I be mad? You haven't done anything wrong." I smiled through the lie, reassuring him that everything between us was fine.

He waved me off. "Catch you later, babe!"

Idiot.

* * *

I hadn't always loved school, but St. Augustine's Academy was my sanctuary. It was ninety percent socializing and ten percent studies, and that ten percent was secretly paid for by my mom to keep my grades high. Attending class only kept up appearances and kept my name in everyone's mouth.

I was the girl at the center of the funniest, prettiest, and richest group of friends. Everyone knew my name, and everyone knew the moment I walked in the room. I was magnetic like that: the trendsetter, the decider, the _Queen Bee_.

Like all great conquerors, I didn't build my empire overnight. When I first moved to Molokai, I was nothing more than that dorky new girl with a weird Boston accent. My choice in friends was limited since most girls learned it was in their best interest to never be seen with a loser like me. I befriended a fellow nobody named Penelope Miller, and she was the most genuine friend I still ever had. We spent that summer between seventh and eighth grade frosting cupcakes, dancing, riding our bikes, and sneaking into R-rated movies at the movie theater. She was at the center of my fondest, most nostalgia-inducing memories. But when the most popular girl in the middle school took interest in me after a snide comment I made about the science teacher everyone hated, I left Penelope behind.

The Queen Bee herself taught me how to apply makeup and dress to accentuate my progressing womanly curves. She introduced me to all her friends who didn't know I existed before, and together, we attended enough high school parties until everyone in the school district knew who we were. All the attention was a high. People wanted to see me, to speak to me, to know everything about me and were honored for me to know anything about them. For the first time in my life, I was one of the popular girls – the girls who seemed to have it all, whatever _it_ was: Money, clothes, friends, boys. If I wanted it, I had it. I was a part of the 'in' crowd: an 'It' girl.

St. Augustine's was a completely different jungle. The first few weeks of freshman year was a frenzy. Everyone was desperate to form a friend group and assert themselves to the top. The excessive wealth that had set the old Queen Bee apart from the other students at the public middle school was considered modest in this high school, the most prestigious in Hawaii after the all-boys boarding school in Honolulu. She and I were even players, and if I knew I could leave her behind if I wanted to. Lucky for her, I had a soft spot in my heart for the girl who saw in me what no one else did, and what even I couldn't see yet.

I made friends with everyone, memorizing commonalities and names like flashcards in my head. But I was a wolf in sheep's skin. I relied on careful planning and flawless execution when picking my allies and enemies. I pitted friends against each other, spread terrible rumors and stirred up enough drama to ruin friendships. It was guerilla warfare at its finest. As the other empires toppled, mine only grew stronger, and that's where I stayed those two and a half years: reigning Queen Bee of St. Augustine's Academy.

I arrived on campus right as the period dismissed and caught up with my friends outside the gymnasium entrance.

Jay, the only guy in my exclusive group who was more effeminate than the rest of us combined, asked me, "Gabriella, whose house would you rather spend New Year's at? Mine, or Leah's?" For five consecutive years since I've lived in Hawaii, we've held the New Year's party in London's clubhouse. It had been a detached guest house that the family never used, but her dad finally agreed to renovate it after her incessant pleading and pouting. There was a fully functional DJ booth, bar, VIP section, and all types of lights in various colors to create the full club atmosphere. The best part about London's place was that her parents never asked why half the liquor from the bar mysteriously disappeared each time they left town, but generously restocked before their next departure. Every time someone suggested a party, or a holiday like New Year's approached, we always, _always_ went to London's clubhouse. Jay's place was the next best option; his fashion designer parents were always away at fancy catwalks in Europe, and there was a club somewhere inside their four-story modern mansion.

"Yours," I answered.

"Ha!" Jay yelled at Leah, who rolled her eyes like it didn't matter to her anyways.

"What's wrong?" Natalie asked me, and suddenly the others began to study me, eyeing me up and down for evidence that something was wrong. I hadn't been crying, or more irritable than usual, but Natalie knew me unlike the others.

Most of the group was loosely threaded together through mutual friends and enemies, whereas Natalie and I were unique. Jessica and Jay were the next closest set of best friends, except Jay liked London who Jessica absolutely hated, although few could see it because she's so non-confrontational. Natasha and Jay had big issues, and Jessica and Tiffany didn't like each other, but Rachel and London had the biggest feud that still boiled over every few weekends when they both drank too much. One of them sucked off the other's ex, but I forgot who was who in the story and had been too afraid of stirring it up again to ask. It was back in middle school just before I moved here, but according to rumors, they were inseparable before.

The important thing was our similarities. We were united by abandonment, as dramatic as that sounds. Each of us had an absent parent: The international lawyer is always abroad, the surgeons are called in at all hours of the day, the CEO is glued to his phone, the fashion designer is obsessed with his art, and the TV executive and his seventh wife's main house is in Beverly Hills. For me, Mom manages dozens of music artists and is usually on tour with one of them or away to an event or meeting with another. She got Melanie and I an extraordinary cliffside mansion overlooking a private beach with a full staff and assistants, a consolation present for her absence.

I answered Natalie, "My grandma has cancer."

"I'm sorry," Jessica said.

"It's whatever," I groaned, earning a few judgmental side eyes. "We're moving to Albuquerque, too. To help, I guess."

"When do you leave?" Jay asked.

"The second of January."

"We'll have the party at your place," Jay said, and it was unanimously decided.

* * *

I had been up since four thirty in the morning on the day Nate returned from Sweden. Every year his mother's side held a massive family reunion on a farm a couple hours South of Stockholm in the picturesque Swedish countryside. Nate had shown me photographs dating back to his infancy, him stumbling around the prairie, pulling at flowers and chasing butterflies. I acted interested as he named all the relatives in the panoramic photo, he and his brown-eyed and dark-haired father sticking out in the sea of Bergstrom blonds, but I truly never cared about his family or his childhood.

His parents had left me with a key and the code to disarm the alarm for checking in on the place while they were gone if I wanted. It was a kind gesture, but completely unnecessary given the dogsitter was staying overnights to tend to their three pomeranians. I wasn't sure what to make of it, what it implied they thought of their son and I. They believed I'd become so desperate to reunite with him I'd need access to his home, to the scent of him and the place I'd seen him most.

Of course I never came over.

Their plane landed at five, and it only took about twenty minutes to reach home from the airport. I waited for them in the hallway outside the door into the garage, watching Nate before he noticed me. His mother made a comment; "I kept wanting to put a Twizzler in your mouth while you slept all that time," and he chuckled like a schoolboy in an unguarded way I had never heard before. I took advantage of the next few seconds before he noticed me to study him, and discovered something crucial. Not only had I never heard him laugh like that, I couldn't remember what his laugh sounded like at all, and maybe I had never heard it. I couldn't recognize my boyfriend, or this _version_ of him, from the all time we had known each other. He was different when he knew I was there. He was happy.

Then, he saw me.

His demeanor morphed in front of my eyes, subtle but drastic. His jaw clenched and his shoulders rose. Nevertheless, he gave an uncomfortable and fake smile. "Hey babe!"

"Welcome home," I responded, pushing away all the observations and realizations for the moment. His parents greeted me with hugs and a souvenir, and I offered to help them carry things inside. (I always seemed to charm parents.) I grabbed a duffle bag for Nate and followed him to his room. He, unbothered by my presence, unzipped a suitcase and began moving the stacks of shirts from the luggage to his bed. "Well, I suppose now that you're home we can resume my surfing lessons," I said to him.

He dramatically yawned with a groan and a stretch. "I don't know, babe. I'm so jetlagged."

"Your mom said you were sleeping all the way home," I countered.

"Yeah, I don't know. I just feel sluggish still. Kind of gross, too. Maybe I should shower?"

He was asking me, and I couldn't figure out why. This didn't make sense. Why was he afraid of me? "Okay," I said, and took a seat on his bed. "I'll wait here."

I worried the whole thirty minutes that he was in the shower. I wondered what was going to happen, or if the thing was already happening but I had finally wised up enough to notice it. I asked myself, had Nate ever been truly happy with me? Had I ever seen him so relaxed as when he didn't know I was there yet? I didn't want to think about the answer, but the questions alone tortured me with insecurity.

Nate came back from the bathroom in clean pajamas and tossed around wet hair. I needed something to gauge him, a litmus test. I went back to the very foundation of our relationship, the fundamentals we had before without any complications - sex.

"How about we have some fun? It's been so long since I've last seen you, and I've been so lonely."

"If you want," he all but shrugged.

For a moment I thought he misunderstood what I was asking for. He had never seemed so disinterested, so impartial and distant. This guy used to pounce and devour me at my slightest request, and anywhere I requested it. The back of a movie theater, the backseat of his car, the janitor's closet, etcetera. I unzipped his pants and tugged down his underwear, then grabbed his flaccid penis. I was about to begin the motions, but stopped. He was obviously not into it, and I was only embarrassing myself.

"What's wrong?" I demanded.

He was taken back. "What do you mean?"

"You know what I mean," I snapped. "You know more than I do. Why isn't this working?"

He dropped his head and sighed, pulling his pants back up and fastening the belt. "I wasn't expecting to see you today."

" _So_? I'm your girlfriend."

He turned and sat down on the bed next to me, rubbing his hand on my knee. He sighed and looked away before he said, "We need to talk."

"Please! Help me understand what's going on with you, with _us_. Fucking _talk_ to me."

"I don't know where to begin, Gabriella. I didn't even know if I wanted to talk to you about this at all, especially right now. I want to do the right thing, but I don't know what that is. I really like you...I just don't want a long distance relationship. It doesn't seem to me like it'll work out if you're all the way in Albuquerque. If you want, we can still be frien-"

"No," I interrupted.

"No?"

I was calm as I spoke to him. My tone was impersonal and mechanical as I said, "I'm not your friend, Nate. I've never been your friend."

"Then what was I to you?"

"A placeholder and a waste of time." I didn't linger to watch his reaction. I didn't care if it was bad. I left my souvenir on the dinner table on my way out, and didn't look back.

Sometimes I was unnecessarily cruel. I didn't know why. Maybe I was bored of acting so nice all the time. Maybe I felt I didn't deserve them, and self-sabotaging was the only way to remind them how terrible I truly was. Or maybe I was insulted and the cruelty was a defense mechanism. Whatever it was that day, Nate hit the double jackpot as he learned the hard way I also had a fondness for burning bridges.

* * *

Jay asked, "You got it yet?"

"No," I said, tapping the Bluetooth icon on my phone harder as if that would make all the difference. The speakers had been synced to the laptop, but Melanie left it out overnight when it stormed, frying the brand-new MacBook in seconds.

"We can try mine," Jessica suggested.

"Go ahead." I rushed across the patio and past my bored friends, loitering and checking their phones with nothing better to do. I cupped my hands around my mouth and shouted up the balcony, "Melanie!"

Her window opened and she called down, "What?"

"Did you get the speakers to work?"

"No, they're broke!"

They all pouted and groaned, and Tiffany suggested we go somewhere else. "We're not doing that," London said decidedly. "This is Gabriella's last night here."

"How are we going to party without music?" Jay sarcastically asked, "You expect me to beatbox?"

Rachel, who had been glued to her phone the entire time, finally looked up long enough to know what was going on and offered, "I have a portable speaker in my trunk. It's not very loud, but it has good sound."

"It's better than nothing," I said.

Jessica went with her to retrieve it, and they returned a few minutes later with one of those pill-shaped Beats speakers. "It's only at forty percent battery," she said, and we huddled around in anticipation. She set it on the railing and cranked it all the way up, Bruno Mars' synthesized voice singing the first few lines of _24K Magic_. I shouldn't have been surprised given that this was Rachel's playlist. She had been obsessed with Bruno Mars since his _Beautiful Girls_ days, and the only reason she befriended Megan was because she was his second cousin.

Everybody moved to the beat, dancing with each other and pausing only to take a shot from the communal bottle of tequila. When the song came to an end, Jay stole the speaker and resynced it to his phone, mumbling something about getting the party started _forreal_ , in his words.

Unsurprisingly, it was Jay's idol, Todrick Hall, whose voice came out of the speaker next. Jay struck a new sassy pose with each of Todrick's lyrics: _nails, hair, hips, heels._ The life of the party was resurrecting. Everyone encouraged him with cheers of "Yas queen!" until he dropped into the splits on my patio and twerk one ass cheek at a time. All us girls lost it, screaming out in laughter and disbelief. Tiffany held onto me for balance as she hysterically laughed, her weak knees buckling beneath the force of her laughter.

Jay rose to his feet, leaned at his hips, and proceeded to twerk backwards against London. She spun around to put their butts together and twerked back into him. Jay screamed, "What you got?" He hopped back with each pop of his ass while whipping his head around in circles, only stopping once he had twerked London completely off the patio. I laughed harder than ever before and collapsed onto the floor with Tiffany, joining the others who had already keeled over.

Another Todrick Hall song had played and ended by the time we all were at least on our feet again. Jay pulled London up from the bushes she had fallen into, leaves stuck in her hair and sticking to her short cocktail dress. She was the least amused, and the thought of her being mad for getting _twerked across my patio_ made me crack up again. My laughter spread more contagious than a plague, giving the party a second round of uncontrollable fun.

The hysteria subsided and we resumed our usual dancing, fairly sharing the role of DJ. When it was my turn to pick a song, they all groaned that I was going to play old music. Then I remembered one of the few songs of mine they liked, _Shots_ by Lil Jon and LMFAO, an old crunk hit from the early 2000s. Everyone danced along and when the chorus played, I held the bottle above my head and waterfalled a generous stream of tequila. Everyone screamed out and began chanting, "Shots! Shots! Shots!" Without time to run inside and retrieve shot glasses, we desperately attempted body shots, sucking up shots of tequila from each other's bellybuttons and licking lines of salt off the cleavage. We didn't have lime wedges to put in our mouths, but Jessica pecked Rachel on the lips anyways, making everyone scream out and laugh again.

We were so wrapped up in the music and fun that we forgot the whole purpose of the night, to celebrate the new year, until five minutes before 2022. I almost regretted telling them the time, because then Jay wanted to celebrate on our private beach below the cliff and the others were too stupidly drunk to listen to my objections. I was still arguing with nobody when he stood up, breezed by me like I was nothing more than an annoying whistle in the wind, and stepped off the patio. He disappeared into the palm trees and led the others along the steep path down to the beach. Reluctantly, I followed them.

It was nearly midnight and very dark, but the light of the moon was enough to make out silhouettes and general details. I watched Jay strut along the shore, kicking sand up at London, the victim of all his antics tonight. She retaliated with splashes of cold ocean water. They both threw sand and water at each other when I rushed in, loading my hands with dry sand, and soon everyone else joined too.

Everyone was screaming, dodging scoops of sand and splashes of water, laughing so loud I barely heard Jessica say, "Guys, stop! It's almost time!" When she started counting down, everyone listened and joined in,

"Ten! Nine!" Jay looked at me with a mischievous smile. "Eight!" He reached out towards me, grabbed my shoulders, and dragged me towards the water. "Seven!" The others followed and watched on as he pushed me deeper and deeper into the ocean. "Six!" The freezing water was up to my ankles. "Five!"…my knees…"Four!"…my hips…"Three!" I finally started to resist, but he still managed to entirely submerged me into an incoming wave face first. I tried to stand up, but his grip was too strong. He held down in the freezing ocean as the year changed, and all I could do was listen to my friends' muffled cheering through the water, "Happy New Year!"

* * *

The following morning I traded my island paradise for the continental US. Natalie volunteered to drive me as my mom took my sister separately, which was fine with me as I was still nursing my hangover. It had been so quiet, no radio or useless small talk. Finally at the intersection of seventy-second and Main Street, Mom's Audi disappeared into the highway traffic while Natalie took us straight beneath the bridge. "A small detour," she explained with a cheeky smirk.

I was intrigued, but I knew that if I acted it she would only hold the secret closer. She was big on surprises and overboard gestures, thoughtfulness, joy, and all the other things I'm not.

She pulled up to the parking lot where the old mall had been before it was demolished and new construction began. She put the car in park outside a row of port-a-potties and asked me, "You remember this place?"

"How could I forget? You taught me to walk in high heels at the DSW."

"Exactly. We're back where it all began. It seemed like the only right place to give you this."

She reached over my lap and popped open the glove compartment, removing a pastel green scrapbook with the words _Goodbye Gabriella_ scribbled on the cover. I opened to a random page to a collage of photos of Jay and I, and on the following page began a letter addressed to me:

_Hey Bish,_

_Sorry you have to leave us, AKA the best people in the world. I'll miss you everyday! But don't worry, I'll keep your throne warm. ;)_

_Love you,_

_Jay_

"We all wrote something for you."

I quickly grew flustered. With everyone else around me so obsessed with perfecting their own lives, myself just as guilty, it had been so long since I felt that I truly mattered to someone, that I played a part in someone else's pursuit of perfect, unequated happiness. I couldn't recall the last time I felt so loved.

I asked, "Why are we friends?" She flinched and I hastily rephrased, "Why did we become friends? All those years ago, I mean. You had everybody else at your disposal. You were the most popular girl in the whole middle school. Why did you want me?"

"You were different."

"Clearly," I scoffed, unsatisfied with her answer. "I was a fucking loser."

"You weren't likeable but you were genuine, and I needed someone, even if it was just _one_ person, who wouldn't bullshit me."

 _How ironic_ , I thought. All this talk and yet she was bullshitting me now. Didn't I deserve more? Didn't I deserve honesty without digging it out of her? I wanted her to admit it, admit that she needed someone as ugly and ruthless as she was, someone who would stop at nothing to keep us on top. _Let's quit pretending,_ I was begging her. _Just this once._

"Promise me we'll be friends forever," she said.

"I promise."

She drove me to the airport, and the charade was over.


	2. NOBODY

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wish I could have had this out sooner, but I worked 60 hours the last two weeks while my boyfriend was out of town. I did have two nights off each week but spent most of my time catching up on sleep lol
> 
> I cannot tell you guys how many times I reread that first chapter over and over again. Alas...there is an error. Gabriella's mom's name is Ona, not Lisa. It's a small detail, but it would always bother me if I never changed it.

It was morning by the time we finally landed, and there was no more brilliant sunrise over the edge of the ocean. Rather, the sky was an ominous and depressing grey. Every exhale clouded in the frigid air, and dusty snow slithered with the breeze across the tarmac. In the years since we lived through New York City's ice-overs and blizzards, Mom had completely forgotten how to drive in the winter weather. She slid through many red lights and earned us numerous middle fingers and disgruntled honks. She managed to avoid crashing into the gate at the entrance to Grandma's neighborhood - the prestigious Brookhaven Estates - and slid to a stop a mere few inches from ramming the closed garage door.

Grandma appeared in a window in the foyer between the gaudy curtains and watched us slip and shuffle up her icy walkway.

"You need some salt on the ground, Mom!" Mom said as we entered her room. A glass pot of stale potpourri barely masked the stench of dead roses, and all around the living room hung pictures of our family. It was like we had all died in a tragic accident and this was the joint funeral.

"I come in through the garage," Grandma responded.

"Great. Now you tell us."

I decided to follow Melanie past them into the dining room when Mom grabbed my arm. "She wants to talk to you," she spoke quietly.

"Who?" I asked.  
"Your grandmother, of course."

"What does she want?"

"I don't know." I sensed she was lying once she quickly fled into the kitchen, purposely leaving Grandma and I alone.

Grandma approached, her pungent lavender perfume tickling my nose. "You'll come with me to the grocery store today. You need to know what to buy as I go through treatment."

"They deliver that kind of stuff now," I told her. "I'll show you the app."

"I'm far too particular to let a stranger pick my produce. Besides, wouldn't it be nice to shop together? I'm sure you need school supplies, too."

"We don't bother with those kinds of things."

"Kala," she used my birth name in anguish like I had just deeply pained her, but I knew it was a ruse. "I need you." I couldn't stop from rolling my eyes. "We're family, Kala. Family helps each other. That's why your mother brought you and your sister all the way out here, for me. For family."

"I know we moved out here for you. Trust me, I haven't forgotten yet," I snapped. I wasn't angry or annoyed, but I needed a push...something that would put her on her heels until she had no other choice but to shove back. She had to learn that her guilt tripping would never work on me like it did the rest of the family. If she wanted something from me, she needed to fess up.

She was taken back by my response, and a silent beat passed while she glared at me. The helpless masquerade was over, and I had put her on the defense. "I'm getting my keys," she said.

* * *

I restlessly paced the aisle in Whole Foods, biting my tongue and pretending to care which produce Grandma needed organic. "Low sodium," she said as she lifted a can of chickpeas. "It's a must. Did you write that down?"

"Mm hmm," I nodded my head, meanwhile scrolling through social media on my phone. Jay had gotten a new car, a sky blue convertible Porsche that he proudly showed off with his hand on the wheel, Rolex in view. Natalie retweeted something cryptic about romance. Rachel posted photos of a Louis Vuitton haul. Yawn.

We were leaving the condiment aisle when Grandma's cart blindly bumped another in the perpendicular aisle. "Pardon me!" She called out, slowly inching her cart in front of the stranger's. "Oh, it's you!"

"Hi Kulani! How are you?" The woman turned into our aisle, and her appearance made me stifle a giggle. There was enough jewelry on her to afford a decent house, and she resembled the multitude of housewives London's dad has married through over the years.

"I'm well! How was France? I thought you weren't returning for another week."

"It was just gorgeous, as always. We thought about skipping the first week of the semester, but the kids changed their mind. You know my thespians, they always have lines to memorize and dress rehearsals to plan. I couldn't drag them away from that auditorium if it was burning to the ground." She and Grandma shared a laugh, then she looked at me and asked, "And what is your name?"

"My apologies," Grandma said, "this is my granddaughter, Gabriella. And Gabriella, this is Mrs. Darby Evans."

"Pleased to meet you, Gabriella." Darby said.

"Likewise," I said.

"Come tomorrow morning, will you be a Wildcat or a Knight?"

"I'm sorry, will I be a what?" I asked.

"She's not familiar with the mascots," Grandma answered. "Gabriella will attend East High School."

I couldn't speak. I couldn't think, or listen, or begin to process what was happening. The disbelief had completely overwhelmed me and all my senses. It was like I had been kicked to the back of my mind, alone and stunned. I had never heard of East High School before. I had never met this woman before, yet she learned of my fate at the same instant that I did. What was happening to me? Where did my control go?

"Wonderful!" Darby cheered, pulling me back to Earth. "I think you and Sharpay could become splendid friends."

"She's already your new neighbor. My daughter bought a house in Newbury Parkway. Just across the street and a few down from yours!"

Darby brightened, her blue eyes grew and a pearly white smile appeared. "I have an idea! I'm sure your family is probably busy adjusting to the new house, but maybe you'd all like to come over for dinner this evening? I think it'd be great to introduce everyone. No need to stress or dress up."

"Thank you, Darby." Grandma answered for me. "I'm sure Ona would love to come!"

"You just let me know when you're heading over."

We continued into the meat aisle, Grandma spilling little details about this new stranger in a hushed tone. "That's Darby Evans," she said, "head of the neighborhood association, varsity girls' tennis and swim team coach, and leader of the ladies' guild at church. Her twins, Ryan and Sharpay, are natural thespians. They put little East High on Juilliard's radar."

Theatre geeks? I thought, Spare me. I tuned out everything else Grandma had to say about the Evans' as she took me down the street to Dolce and Gabbana. The newest collection included a gorgeous genuine leather tote and backpack. I told the saleswoman I wanted two totes in black and purple, two backpacks in beige and blush pink, and a matching wallet just because. She escorted Grandma and I to her register, and after a bit of waiting, she told us the total. Grandma didn't move, and I looked to her expectantly. "Aren't you paying?"

"Kala," Grandma said. "Isn't this a bit excessive? Certainly you don't need four bags."

"You don't have to buy me anything." I removed my phone and began dialing. "I'll ask Mom."

"I don't think your mom should buy you it, either."

"That's not up to you."

Grandma's lip thinned to a straight, narrow line.

Mom answered and I said, "I need you to transfer some money into my account. We're school shopping."

"How much?" she asked.

"Twenty thousand should be enough for the rest of the month."

"Okay."

I hung up the call when Grandma reached out for my phone. She said, "No, let me talk to her."

"She's gone." I held the blank screen up to show her the call had ended. "It's fine, she said I could."

Grandma gave me a disapproving side eye, but said nothing. The saleswoman packed my new things while Grandma watched, shaking her head and crossing her arms. Outside the shop she mentioned it again. "Does your mother usually give you that amount of money?"

"Whenever she's not with me to buy it herself, yes."

Grandma finally bit her tongue, and the blissful silence lasted the remainder of our time together.

* * *

The afternoon sun had melted down most of the ice, leaving dirty slush to drench our shoes up to the Evans' massive estate. Grandma led the way inside, greeting Vance and Darby Evans beneath their impressive chandelier and passing them a bottle of wine. Darby was just as friendly as earlier, smiling and shaking hands like she was up for re-election. Vance had a similar overboard friendliness, hugging my mom like it was a long overdue reunion. Ryan, their son, wrapped up his song on the grand piano before introducing himself to me and Melanie. I left her to talk to him and wandered off into the dining room alone. I didn't care about meeting them, and I especially didn't care if I showed it. All I wanted to do was go home and sulk.

The appetizers were lackluster, or maybe I was too distracted to truly enjoy the taste. From what I had heard from my friends and sources at St. Augustine's, the recent rumor was that Nate was already dating someone new - a cheerleader from the local public school. I knew I shouldn't care, but my anger and frustration proved I still did, and there was nothing I could do to mend my stupid heart.

When Darby served the salmon filets, Vance asked if he should call up to their daughter Sharpay. Just then, Ryan looked at the doorway behind me and said, "How nice of you to finally grace us with your presence, Shar."

"You're very welcome," she said. I looked over my shoulder at the girl and watched as she entered the room. There was no semblance to the theater geek Grandma had told me about earlier. She seemed to float like royalty as she moved, graceful and poised. Her eyes were distant, disinterested. She had better things to do, better people to accompany. I felt in the presence of a star on the rise, the girl who single handedly put Albuquerque on Juilliard's radar...the almighty Queen Bee of East High.

She sat down next to me and Darby introduced us, but she didn't bother to look in my direction. I forgot my ex-boyfriend woes for the time being and observed the Evans family. Vance and Darby led most of the conversation, asking Mom about her work and Melanie's first day nervousness. Grandma answered half the questions for them, as she so often loved to remain at the center of attention. Ryan and Sharpay chatted about all things theater and gossip. I was completely uninvolved. Once Darby noticed she said to her kids, "Gabriella is starting at East High. Isn't that exciting? You'll all be classmates."

"It's a big school," Sharpay said. "We get a lot of new kids." She was right. I was nothing special anymore. Come tomorrow morning, I'd be a nameless face whose identity was lost in the masses of East High's miscellaneous nobodies.

Sharpay reached across for the salt shaker and I noticed a diamond tennis bracelet wrapped on her wrist. "I love that bracelet," I said. "I have the same one, but it's in Hawaii. Most of my clothes still haven't been shipped over."

"Tragic," she responded monotonously. Her disinterest was palpable.

"Honestly," I said. "I don't know what to wear tomorrow."

"Sharpay," Darby interrupted, "you should show Gabriella your closet. Maybe she'll find something in there to borrow."

Sharpay stared at her mother, and I knew her silence meant a resounding no. I was about to dismiss the idea when to my surprise, Sharpay glanced in my direction, looked me over, and said, "We're the same size."

I spent the rest of dinner praying time would speed up, but once the dessert plates were cleared, I wanted everything to pause. Sharpay intimidated me in a way Natalie never did. Natalie showed interest and approached me first, whereas I was now desperate to convince Sharpay that I was someone worth knowing, someone who shouldn't be ignored, and someone not to underestimate. I needed to prove myself to her, and I had no idea where to begin.

Sharpay silently led me up the grand staircase and over the foyer to her bedroom. Everything in her room was pink and gold: the armchair, the couch, the fireplace, the bed, the ceiling. When she opened the double doors into a multi-level closet, I gasped. Every corner, rack, and shelf was filled with something priceless. Designer glasses, shoes, coats, gowns, dresses, bags, and more. She briefly checked her hair in the massive Barbie pink vanity and said, "Go crazy. I'll be practicing lines."

She left me alone, and I scurried. I flipped through a rack of shirts when I found it - a snug yellow crop top with the word baby girl written across the bust in psychedelic bubble letters. I took off my shirt and slid it on, appreciating how the smaller size worked like an illusion to make my C's look like D's. I grabbed a waist-high pair of torn skinny jeans and a wedged pair of furry boats. My heart raced as I stood at her full length mirror. What would she think of me? I worried. Was this enough? Was I enough?

I swallowed my nervousness and rushed out of the closet. She looked up from the script beneath her nose. Her brown eyes scanned me with scrutiny before she crawled off her king size bed and walked up to me, then past me, and stood in her closet. She put her hands on her hips and looked around a while before ascending the narrow staircase up to the second level. I approached the bottom of the stairs to follow when a yellow sweater flew down from above. I snatched it up just inches from hitting the ground when a black leather jacket followed, and suddenly a denim jacket, a green wool cardigan, a fluffy purple robe. "This!" She cheered. I waited with the stack of clothes on my arms as she came down the stairs with a blush pink blazer. She took the clothes from me before carelessly dropping them onto the floor in one big heap. "Wear this," she said.

I put on the blazer, and looked in the mirror.

"There," she said, shifting her weight onto a hip and scanning me up and down. "Now it's perfect."

I blushed. "Thanks, Sharpay."

"Mm," she responded. "You'll have to keep the blazer on all day."

"Why?"

"East High's outdated and sexist dress code. Mrs. Darbus, my homeroom and theater teacher, has made me put on a sweater dozens of times because of my shoulders showing. Can you believe that? Shoulders? Some horny freshman isn't going to pop a boner in the middle of the hallway because of my shoulders, but if he does, that's not my fault! Honestly, how is it my problem a virgin dweeb gets a hard on when the wind wafts my perfume in his direction? The school administrators are a bunch of morons."

I was too dumbfounded to laugh. She was venting to me, meaning that she, to a small extent, trusted me. She might have already liked me. It was a magnificent possibility, if only speculation. She had already alternated between a warm and cold exterior, and learning which was her true self would take far longer...if I ever could.

* * *

It was Monday, and my very first day at East High. The driver dropped Melanie off at the middle school, then took me to the high school. We parked at the curb in the front and I observed the jungle just outside my window, the groups congregating at the fountain and a steady stream of bodies coming off the buses. I took a deep breath and stepped out.

Moments later Sharpay arrived, and her presence worked like a magnet, subtly shifting the hive's attention towards the parking lot. She and her posse of three other girls laughed and talked over one another as they strutted inside. I kept a careful distance as I came in behind them, not wanting to trail too closely.

"Watch out everybody! Barbie has arrived!" A guy's voice cut through the chatter of the halls. I stood back by the trophy case, and watched as Sharpay rolled her eyes, flipped her hair over her shoulder, and turned around to face a hot pink locker. The catcaller laughed with his posse, then happened to lock eyes with me. He smirked, sauntered up to me and leaned his arm on the glass display behind my head. "Well hello there, Baby Girl." He said and blatantly stared at my chest. "I'm Tanner, quarterback. You got a name, Baby Girl?" His friends laughed, but I froze. "Do I make you shy, Baby Girl?" He licked his lips and twirled a lock of my hair around his finger. I cringed, but his group laughed and egged him on like he was the funniest guy in school.

"Tanner!" Sharpay called out. "Can't you take a hint? She obviously doesn't want to talk to you."

He removed his hand from my head and turned to face Sharpay. "C'mon, Barbie! No need to be such a cock block."

She looked to me and asked, "Do you want anything to do with this moron?"

"No thanks."

"Ouch! No worries. I know you'll warm up to me...Baby Girl." His crew cracked up and I wished I could burn my top. They high fived each other and continued down the hall, rough housing and bumping into bystanders.

I asked Sharpay and her group, "Do his friends really think he's funny?"

"Who knows?" Sharpay answered. "They think ramming their heads into each other is fun." Her posse, her carbon copy Sharpettes, laughed.

"They make for an awful welcoming committee."

"I promise the rest of the school isn't nearly as obnoxious. You should stick around us today. We can lead you to the right people." I could have bursted into an explosion of confetti, but I maintained a calm exterior and followed the group down the hallway.

* * *

My third period Algebra was with one of the Sharpettes, Lea Baker, a ditzy redhead whose nasally voice was like nails on a chalkboard to my ears. She took me to the cafeteria at the bell ring and showed me their table in the center of the first balcony. "I'll point out the football players in here so you know who to avoid."

"Are they really all so bad?" I asked.

"Um, yeah! They suck at playing football, and they suck at being nice. It's a double dose of douchebaggery." She looked past me towards the crowded doorway we came in from. "There's Joey Russo and Peter McClement. Avoid them at all cost." Before she could give me any more details, Sharpay came up the stairs with Jackie and Emma.

After they settled, Jackie smiled at me and said, "Can I just say that you're seriously so pretty?"

I looked down shyly and smiled. "Oh my God, thank you!"

"Your hair is so long and dark," she said as she grabbed a handful of my ends. "So healthy, too. How do you do it?"

I blushed. "Genetics, I think. My mom is from Hawaii. Her side all has long dark hair."

"But your name is Gabriella." Lea said. "Isn't that like, Spanish or something?"

Jackie scoffed and shook her head. "Jesus, Lea. You can't just guess people's ethnicity like that."

"It's okay," I said. "I'm not offended. My birth name is Kala Montez-Kelekolio, but my Dad always called me Gabriella and I prefer it."

"That's a shame," Sharpay said. "I like Kala better."

"What does your dad do?" Jackie asked me.

"He's a lawyer. He and my mom are separated. My little sister Melanie and I spend our summers in New York City with he and his other family."

Emma interrupted, "Oh my God." She stared out. "Is it just me or does Delany White look especially tweaker-ish today?"

"She scares me," Jackie confessed.

"Why?" I asked.

"She's a partygirl," Jackie explained, "and is dating a college junior who's also East High's top drug dealer. Hence the tweaking."

"I bet you she's high on meth right now." Sharpay said.

Lea leaned against me and snickered, "The janitor caught her snorting Adderall in the girls' bathroom in middle school."

"You see that girl next to the pillar with the red hair and cheerleader uniform?" Jackie asked me. "That's Blair Simmons, captain of the brainless cheerleader drones. Their squad is like a cult. If you're not in their friend group, you probably won't make the squad. The coach is Blair's mom, so you can imagine the nepotism. We don't have a dance team anymore because the cheerleaders wanted longer routines at halftime show and conspired to dismantle the entire dance team. I'm warning you, Gabriella. They're evil."

"That shorter girl next to her with the big nose is Ellie Hudson," Emma pointed out, "her best friend."

"The only reason people talk about Ellie is because her nudes got leaked last semester," Sharpay said bitterly.

Jackie leaned into the center of the table and whispered, "I bet she leaked them herself."

"Obviously," Sharpay said. "Her name spread like the plague after that. She just wanted the attention, and she got it."

"That ogre drooling over her is Tanner Chadwick," Emma began again. "You had this displeasure of meeting him earlier. Not much more to say about the douchebag extraordinaire. He's the varsity quarterback, which sounds impressive except football is our worst sports team. They only won two games this season. The only girls they can get are bitchy cheerleaders."

Sharpay suggested, "Let's have a little game. Look around and tell us who you are curious about."

I picked the first person I saw below. "Who's that guy with the cello down there?"

"A nobody," Sharpay scoffed. "Choose someone else, someone interesting this time."

I searched the tables around us, and looked over my shoulder at the group of guys behind us. They all wore identical sports jackets with a roaring Wildcat across the back. One had a basketball pinched between his arm and hip, another two arm-wrestled at the table. But the one who caught my gaze for an instant won my curiosity.

I turned around to face the table again. "There are some guys behind us. Blue eyes, brown hair, tan skin."

Sharpay smiled proudly. "Excellent choice, Gabriella. That is Troy Bolton. Now, where to even begin?"

"For starters," Lea began, "he's a senior and the varsity basketball captain."

I began to piece the narrative together by myself. "Basketball is the top sport, so that's really good, isn't it?"

"Absolutely!" Jackie said. "He's going to play with Berkeley in the Fall."

"Wow. He must be like the top guy, right?"

They fell silent, only the murmur of the surrounding tables to be heard. Jackie opened her mouth to speak, but abandoned the thought.

"It's complicated," Sharpay finally said. "Troy Bolton used to be the most popular guy in school. He led the basketball team to championships since his sophomore year, and was so charismatic he could make friends in an instant. Literally everybody loved him. But then, about a year ago, his brother died. It fucking destroyed him. At first people felt sorry for him, but . He ghosted his girlfriend and most of his friends. He snapped at anyone who tried to talk to him, and sometimes he started fights with other guys. Then things got weird. He started obsessing over joining the NBA. He's set to go to Berkeley. Now all he does is go to school and basketball practice. No parties, no dating, no fun. Just school and basketball."

"That's so sad."

"It is," she agreed.

"Is anything the same again? Does Troy have a girlfriend?"

"God no. I'm telling you...the only thing in that guy's life is school, eat, sleep, and play basketball. It's like a compulsion for him now."

"Allison Perry asked him out recently," Emma shared, "but he turned her down."

"That's because it was Allison Perry," Sharpay said, "but Gabriella might have a shot."

"Oh, I don't know about that."

Sharpay rolled her eyes. "Of course you do," she called me out. "You're the hottest new thing on the market! You've captured everyone's curiosity, but now you need to sustain their interest. East High is a huge pond, and if you want to stand out for the long term you have to be unique. Be memorable. Be unavoidable. That's why everyone knows Ryan and I."

The bell ended lunch and the crowd dispelled back into the hallways. At passing periods I continued to spot the varsity captain in the halls. I wasn't searching for him, at least not consciously, but everytime I happened across his face I immediately recognized him. His story was the most tragic, and maybe that's why I remembered him so well. I didn't believe in immediate attraction, but I was immediately empathetic upon hearing his story, and that was a rarity for me as I only truly felt sorry for myself.

* * *

The final class in my Monday schedule was British Literature, my only advanced placement and senior-level class. I arrived early and claimed a desk in the circle by the door. Small doodles and shapes on the inside cover of my notebook occupied my time while the class filled in. I was barely aware when someone had taken the seat next to me, but when the teacher began to speak and I looked up, I found no one other than the varsity basketball captain himself, Troy Bolton. It was unbearably uncomfortable. Suddenly all my knowledge felt grossly intrusive. I began to feel guilty for feeling sorry for him. I didn't deserve to know his problems before I heard the sound of his voice, and before he even knew I existed.

The teacher took attendance before he projected his powerpoint with an opening prompt and gave us ten minutes to complete it. I turned around to my bookbag hanging off the back of my chair and fumbled around in the pockets. I twisted straight again then asked Troy, "Do you have an extra pen?" He silently reached underneath his desk and removed a pen from his backpack. My hand was open to take it and closer to his, but he set it on the table between us. "Thanks." I looked at him expectantly, but he didn't respond, no nod or gesture.

Once the alarm sounded, I happened to see Troy's writing, the beautiful loops and arches in perfect cursive. "Jesus, your handwriting is gorgeous," I said.

He snapped his notebook shut, and I understood then that he wanted absolutely nothing to do with me. But for whatever twisted reason, his rejection and standoffish attitude amused me.

The teacher asked, "Would anyone like to read theirs? Anybody? Do I need to pick a victim? How about," he paused to glance at his paper. "Kala."

I said, "I go by Gabriella."

"Gabriella." He marked it on his sheet, then looked at me expectantly. "Go ahead."

I stood and glanced over the imperfect writing.

"It's okay," the teacher encouraged me. "This is a safe space."

I read aloud, "I'll never find a sight as remarkable and terrifying as the tide before a storm. Massive waves stampede over the beach and ram into the rocks below. The clouds above roar and lightning cracks the dark sky in two with a bright, jagged tear. My toes curl over the edge of the cliff above a dangerous and unforgivable fall. I close my eyes and breathe in the salty seaweed scent, imagining the true weightlessness of a free fall. My arms raise out to my sides on their own, and my belly bends towards the angry ocean. I listen to the water's call and the wind's warning, both frantic and unrelenting. I follow the water's promise, and with one leap of faith, I surrender to the sea." I paused to clear my throat. "The waves are unforgiving as they surge upon me, pushing me deeper and deeper. There's a peaceful quality about being so powerless, knowing the choice is over and I've already lost. The water burns as it fills my lungs, and my muscles begin to convulse. It's merciless and painful, but all necessary transformations are. I'm so drained, the convulsions dwindle into arrhythmic twitches. I'm beaten, exhausted, and prepared for the end. I fall under, sinking further and further from the light at the surface until the world erodes into a black abyss."

The room was silent, and I worried I had been too dramatic. I wanted to camouflage myself into the brick wall behind me. The teacher asked me, "Has that been in your mind for sometime?"

"I don't know. Maybe?"

"Thank you for sharing," he said.

The realization dawned on me too late that I had made a complete fool of myself. Obviously it was too dark, depressing and likely concerning. The memory distracted me and made me cringe through the rest of the period, and haunted me long after school ended. Nevertheless, day one hadn't been a total disaster. I had managed to infiltrate Sharpay's posse, and that would be worth more than any embarrassment from British Literature.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading. Please let me know what you thought!


	3. CONTROL

Tuesday was a total rollercoaster. For starters, the amount of snow that fell overnight had scared the administrators and superintendents into a ten a.m. late start. However, the new chef was a no-show, and Melanie had cremated her bread in the toaster. The smoke tripped the fire alarm, and woke me in a panic.

"What did you do?" I screamed over the chirps, climbing a stool to remove the alarm from the ceiling. I pulled out the batteries and the ruckus swiftly ended, but the smoke lingered.

"I went to make toast, but the toaster went psycho. I cut my finger trying to slice an avocado. And I woke up to this mess!" She pointed to her face.

"What? Your ugly mug?"

"No, you bitch. _This_!" She yelled, scratching at the blemishes around her chin and jawline.

"Well, stop picking at it. It will only make the pimples worse."

Melanie pouted. "I wouldn't have to deal with any of this if Mom was here. She'd know what to do."

"Mom isn't here?"

"Uh, _no_? At least not when I looked. I assumed she told you. Do you know where she might be?"

"I don't know, Mel. What difference does it make? She's gone; vanished. Poof!"

"Poof?"

"Like a ghost."

"You aren't worried, are you?"

I scoffed. "There's nothing to be worried about. Mom is fine, I'm sure." I brushed her crumbs into the trashcan and ran my hand under the faucet before unplugging my phone from the counter charger.

 _1 missed message from Sharpay:_ _We're picking you up. Be ready at 9:30, and don't make us late._

I couldn't believe it. She had to have mistaken me for someone else in her contacts. How was it possible that Sharpay wanted to include me, the new girl nobody? Maybe my new girl allure was worth more than she admitted, and she intended to capitalize on the attention for herself.

"Change your pillowcase," I said, "and cut out dairy."

"What?" Melanie asked.

"For your acne." I ran upstairs to find a new outfit for the big arrival. With Sharpay and her posse around me, the attention would be quadrupled, or quintupled! Whether I was ready or not, this was the biggest setup for the rest of my days at East High.

As I dug through the boxes of clothes, I remembered what Sharpay had told me the day before. _East High is a huge pond, and if you want to stand out for the long term you have to be unique. Be memorable. Be unavoidable._

If I wanted to be unique, memorable, and unavoidable, I would need to decline the offer. The hard truth was that the more I attached myself to Sharpay, the harder it would be to rise above her later. Being in her clique entailed being her follower, not her competition. She wasn't looking to recruit an equal; she wanted another nameless Sharpette drone. Although, joining Sharpay's clique wasn't without benefits. Without their guidance, I wouldn't have any idea who anybody was, or if they were worth knowing. Besides, Sharpay's mean streak provided protection, like the fish who attach themselves to sharks. This was just the beginning, and I remained confident that one day I would return to my rightful spot as the Queen Bee.

* * *

On the drive to school, Emma, Jackie, and Lea asked me a thousand and one questions about my first day and which teachers I liked and any boys I might date. Their interview seemed vicarious in nature, as if knowing all the details would make them feel more important. I didn't understand how Sharpay liked their attention; it was invasive and nearly obsessive.

My instinct told me to wall them off, so I did, carefully dodging any questions that might become school gossip and selectively picking which comments to respond to. I didn't know them well, but I knew they were loyal to Sharpay before anybody else. Our friendship was an extension of my standing with Sharpay. As long as I was in Sharpay's good graces, they loved me. And I was on Sharpay's good side...for now.

Although we were a car full of juniors, she parked nearest the baseball field in the senior lot. I walked around to her side and watched as she fixed her hair extensions in the reflection of the blacked-out window. She hoisted her tote further up her shoulder and looked to me. "Ready?" she asked.

"Of course."

She hooked her arm in mine and together we crossed the drop-off traffic to the entrance. A full bus was unloading at the curb, adding bodies to the crowded pavement. I felt Sharpay's magnetism, her confident strut that attracted eyes from the people loitering around the statue. But who was I, this mysterious girl hooked on her arm? I had captured their curiosity, and some envy. This was the Grand Debut, the impression I had one chance to nail. Whatever I wanted to be known for, this was the time to show it. Sharpay fooled them into believing she was an unavoidable force with immeasurable power, but I would never be her clone, yet another bitchy, ditzy Sharpette. So whenever I caught someone's eyes on me, I smiled at them like we were old friends.

We walked down the center of the white and red halls, designer heels clacking loud enough for heads to turn. The attention spread around us like a ripple in a pond. Everyone who I looked to already had their eyes on me. I thought this must be what fame felt like. I smiled at everyone and greeted those whose names I remembered, a pleasant surprise adorning their features at the acknowledgement. In just a day I had attached myself to East High's Queen Bee, and I was almost disappointed in how easy it had been. All I needed was a house in Newbury Parkway, Grandma's connections, and Darby's suggestion. The rest fell into place.

We arrived at Sharpay's locker and the posse continued with their interrogation. It was only then that I felt it - the heat radiating off her glare. I had stolen too much attention away from Sharpay, and her jealousy was palpable.

Her locker slammed shut and the Sharpettes shut up at once. Sharpay looked to me with an irritated twitch in her brown eyes, but she hooked her arm in mine nevertheless. We walked silently through the halls, the other three's conversation becoming a mumbled mess with all the other voices passing by. People continued to gawk, and I kept going with my routine, not expecting how good it would feel to turn a hundred strangers into friends with a simple smile. I paused outside the gymnasium and read a sign: _Join the Wildcats' #1 Spirit Squad! Become a cheerleader!_ I leaned in to read the tryout details when Sharpay jerked me upright. "What are you doing?" She hissed.

It was embarrassing how afraid of disappointing her I became in that moment, like I needed to apologize although she was the one trying to control me. I felt pathetic, and I hated her in that moment for forcing me beneath her. "I was just curious."

Her head slightly tilted back and she stared down her nose at me. She spoke in a calm, composed manner. "We've already told you everything you need to know about them. There's nothing more to be curious about."

Clearly, I had gone too far, and Sharpay was redrawing my boundaries. I wasn't allowed to be curious about the cheerleaders, or be the topic of intrigue with her friends, or steal away too much attention from her. In short, I wasn't allowed to be more loved than she was feared. My attractive qualities threatened her, but I needed her to believe befriending me wouldn't put her reign in danger. So against my pride, I nodded my head and we continued down the hall.

* * *

Being so nice all the time completely drained me. I acted interested in anybody and everybody's little details, making hours of meaningless smalltalk and sneaking in fake compliments just to make them like me more. By the time third period algebra came around, I was dead inside. I excused myself to the bathroom, but took an unnecessary detour to explore the school. Most classrooms were in use, but there was an empty science lab on the second floor that caught my attention. I passed a rack of graduated cylinders, snuck by the emergency eye wash station, and walked along a wall of windows to a door that led straight outside. The handle was shut by an electronic lock, so I touched my forehead against the door and checked the doorway. There, lightly etched in pencil on the paint, was a code - _7402#_. I put it in, not believing it could possibly work, but then... _click_ , the door unlocked.

I walked across the length of the ledge where the windows from the empty science lab looked out. Empty milk crates lined the brick wall, stacked like stairs leading up to the next floor of the roof. I carefully climbed the crates and pulled myself up over the ledge, discovering pots of flowers and plants and a folding lawn chair. I took a seat and peered out at the mountains in the distance, finally finding some natural beauty in New Mexico.

The breeze was colder so high up, and produced a gentle whistle. I felt myself caving into the serenity of the moment when the crates below screeched. I looked over the ledge at the top of someone's head, and ducked behind the chair when a pair of blue eyes peaked up over the ledge. He spotted me without any effort and asked, "Who else is here?"

"No one," I said, walking out from behind the chair.

"Who showed you this place?"

"No one," I repeated harsher.

Troy pulled himself the rest of the way up and stood at the edge. "How did you get up here?"

I pointed to the edge of the roof. "The same way you just did."

"You mean you saw a stack of crates and decided to start climbing?"

"Didn't you?"

"I'm the one who put them there," he said.

"Well... _thanks_?"

He shook his head. "I need to understand. Why are you up here? How did you know this would be here? Did you see me climb out the window?"

" _Window_?" I laughed. "I didn't climb out a window."

"Then how did you get outside?"

I pointed down to the science lab. "The door at the back of the classroom."

"You can't," he argued. "They put a lock on it."

"I guess that would stop anyone without the code, huh?"

"Wha-? How did you find the code? I've been trying to crack it for weeks."

"Why do you care? You want to protect your little sanctuary?"

"Yes, actually. That's exactly why I care. This is my spot. These are my plants, and that's my dad's lawn chair you terribly hid behind."

I nodded my head, and traded spots so that I was at the edge. "Message received loud and clear," I said. "I'll leave. And to put your mind at ease, I will never be back."

"Not trying to be a dick."

"I didn't say you were," I snapped at him.

"Just go slow on your way down. The crates can be shaky. Push them back against the wall if they shift."

"I could _never_ risk that!" I sarcastically said. "I would lose _so_ much sleep if I injured East High's greatest basketball asset, _the_ Berkeley-bound Troy Bolton."

"Do I know you?"

I shook my head. "You don't."

"Are you sure? Because you seem to know a lot about me."

"People talk," I said with a shrug. "Your story was the most memorable."

"My story?"

"The whole series." I anticipated some questioning, but nothing came. He sat on the lawn chair, closed his eyes, and dropped his head back, unbothered. "Aren't you curious?"

"About you?"

"No, about your story."

"I know my story. I don't care about their version. Besides, it's none of my business what other people think about me."

"That's impossible."

"Maybe for a narcissist."

"Goodbye," I said, before murmuring beneath my breath "asshole" but I hoped it was loud enough for him to hear. I carefully dangled a leg down and tiptoed on the top crate, then carefully stepped down the rest of the way. The temptation to kick out the bottom crate and send the whole stack tumbling was strong, but I managed to resist and walked away without making an enemy.

* * *

I ignored and avoided Troy after that encounter on the rooftop, and he seemed content to do the same. The day before he was a troubled but intriguing guy with a tragic past and a deceased brother, but now my opinion had shifted, and all he became to me was a total dick.

When I arrived early to British Literature, the instructor, Mr. Wyatt, asked to speak to me privately in his office across the hall. Faking explosive diarrhea crossed my mind, but I reluctantly obliged. I had to confront what I had done, either now or later.

He shut the door behind us into a claustrophobic, pathetic excuse for an office. "Your poem," he began. "I wanted to discuss it with you."

"I don't need counseling."

"What?"

"That's what this is about, isn't it? My poem was too dark, and now you're concerned."

"That's...that's not what this was about. Gabriella, your poem was beautiful. I'm starting a poetry and writing club after school on Thursdays, and I wanted to personally invite you to come to a meeting. You would fit right in."

I froze up, too surprised and dumbfounded to even shake my head. "I'll have to check my schedule."

"Please consider it. I'm looking forward to seeing what else you can do, even if it's just through classwork."

"Thanks," I said, grasping my bookbag straps and fleeing across the hall to the classroom.

I expected Troy to sit somewhere else, even straddle the trashcan fucking trashcan before sitting next to me again. But for whatever reason, he reclaimed his original seat next to mine. I wasn't in the mood to play friendly with him, especially after what was said on the rooftop. I grabbed my bookbag when he asked me, "Have you looked at the topics list yet?"

"Uh, what?"

"We need to choose one for the project soon."

We? Project? An awkward moment passed as I tried to piece together whatever he could be talking about, but I came up with nothing. "What project?"

"The final project, worth a quarter of our final grade?" He said with a sting of sarcasm.

"Oh, is that on the syllabus?"

He sighed, irritated. "Yes, and he only talked about it for twenty minutes yesterday." He turned to me quickly and leaned in, speaking curt and harsh. "Listen, if you think you're going to skate by and make me do all the work, it's not happening. I won't take a bad grade because you want to slack off."

I tried my best to reassure him. "I'm not going to leave you with all the work. You can trust me, Troy."

"We will set a schedule to meet up outside of school to work on it and keep each other accountable," he demanded. "Are you free to go over the list of topics tonight?"

"No," I lied, just because his tone annoyed me.

"When will you be available?"

"Here," I tugged his notebook across the table and plucked his pen from his grasp. I jotted my name and number in the top margin of his notebook. "Just text me so that I'll have your number. I'll let you know the next time I'm free."

In what I've learned is his default standoffish attitude, he didn't acknowledge anything I had said, but snatched back his notebook as if I was nothing more than blank, dead, shapeless hunk of nonexistence.

* * *

My Tuesday schedule ended with Biology lab on the second floor in the science hallway. I was partnered with Peter McClement, a junior football player Lea pointed out to me in the cafeteria yesterday. She made it sound like he was half braindead, so I was surprised when Peter figured out the math for us when I couldn't even begin to set up the equation.

By the end of the period, I felt comfortable asking him for directions to the auditorium.

"Sure," he said. "Go out this way and take an immediate left, then go down the stairs at the end of the journalism hallway, then take a right towards the cafeteria, then a left at the art display. Walk down the ramp and past the gym, the auditorium will be on your left. If you find yourself outside then you went too far. Any questions?"

"Uh...yes. For starters, where is the journalism hallway?"

He chuckled. "Why don't I just take you there? It'll be way easier that way." I agreed, and he led me out the door. "So, new to Albuquerque, huh?"

"Yes, we moved from Hawaii."

"That's awesome! I've never been to Hawaii, but it looks beautiful."

"It was. Well... _is_. My friends and I wasted countless evenings at the beach. The guy I was dating used to take me on hikes up the volcanos and cliff sides. He was super into botany, so he could identify all the plants we encountered."

"Sounds like a smart dude."

 _Not really_ , I thought.

"Are you dating anyone now?" Peter asked.

After an awkward pause when I prayed he wasn't asking for himself, I answered. "I only moved here two days ago."

"Oh, sorry." He blabbered. "I wasn't trying to assume anything."

"No," I said. "It's okay."

"Well," he said, stopping suddenly. "Here we are." He gestured to the open doors on the left. "Have fun with your...play thing."

"Just waiting for my friends."

"Well, _try_ to have fun with that then."

I put on my friendly exterior again and laughed. "Thanks, Pete."

I joined Emma, Lea, and Jackie in the very last row of the auditorium, centered directly beneath the spotlight. "She's so rude," Emma said with a perturbed scoff. "I do not know what Nathan sees in her."

"Nathan and Sammie are dating?" Lea asked.

"Yup!"

"Oh my God! I didn't know Nathan and Ashley broke up!"

"No, not Nathan Price. Nathan _Barnes_."

Lea threw her head back and released full-bellied laughter. "What laced strand of crack are you smoking, Emma? Nathan Barnes is gay!"

"No, he's not!" Emma argued.

"Emma," Jackie intervened. "You can't seriously be this oblivious."

"It's true," Emma said, "they're dating!"

"Do you listen to what you're saying?" Lea asked. "Nathan Barnes, the most flamboyant guy in school and the only one on the cheer team, is dating a girl?"

"I saw them holding hands, like, _romantically_."

"Where's your proof?" Jackie challenged.

Their words hit me like Chinese water torture. And after a brief few minutes, I couldn't stomach anymore of their mindless gossiping. "I'll be back," I said to noone, as they were still too engrossed in their argument to notice me. I flung my bookbag over my shoulder and went out into the hall again. I needed to pace, to walk away, to be anywhere else besides drowning in their nosey speculation.

I sauntered up the ramp, viewing the artwork on the walls from Wildcat alumni, when I heard a familiar chant... _nails, hair, hips, heals._ I smiled to myself at the memory of New Year's Eve in Molokai, that last night with my friends. It was the first song Jay played on his turn as DJ, and the one that made all of us crack up laughing until we were literally on the floor.

I brought up our group message on my phone, the one that had been mostly radio silent since I had left - since I was a thousand miles away. _I miss you more than you guys can imagine_ , I wrote. _Wishing I could be with you all right now. You have no idea how much this distance hurts._ I read my message, then read it again. I was being sappy, emotional. I usually only let Natalie see me with such truth and rawness. Emotion was vulnerable, and vulnerable meant exposing a weakness. This distance was eroding our friendship minute by minute, and I knew someone else was climbing up to reach my old seat. It didn't matter anymore, and so I sent it.

I put my phone on silent and traced the music to the gymnasium. I stood in the doorway and spied on the cheer team's practice. It was hypnotizing watching them move in nearly perfect synchronized motions. As the music began to fade, they chanted, "W! I! L! D! Wildcats! Now's the time!" They ended the routine with a high jump and merrily tossed their pom poms up in the air.

The squad anxiously looked where I couldn't see behind the wall. Footsteps pounded down the rattling bleachers, growing louder and closer with every step. Sneakers squeaked onto the court, and then she came into view. Blair Simmons, the captain, I recognized from the cafeteria yesterday. She was tall, athletic, with locks of vibrant red hair flowing down her back as she paced the bleachers. Her hands rested on her hips, and her green eyes diligently scanned the group with a scrutinizing glare. Even with her intimidating presence, she was gorgeous, I had to admit.

"Cassidy," she barked, "fix your noodle arms, or I will wrap wooden boards around your elbows to keep them straight. Madison, those high knees were a disgrace. Olivia! Buy a metronome until you can learn to keep a fucking beat. And Larissa! What the hell was that? It was a backhandspring, not a backflip! God, I'm embarrassed _for_ you!"

 _Holy shit_ , I thought. _She's worse than a drill sergeant._

"People!" She screamed. "What part of I'm cutting the lineup do you _not_ understand? Eighteen spots - that's all the room I have this semester. Twenty-two hopefuls are in this gymnasium, and twenty-two think you're safe. But you show up late, you give little effort, and you blunder at tryouts. Be warned: your days are numbered. Only _eighteen_ will have the honor and privilege of becoming Wildcat cheerleaders. But four of you will never wear the Wildcat uniform ever again."

One of the girls broke down, sobbing into her hands and running blindly towards me. I moved out of the way as she rushed by, drawing everyone's attention towards me. "Excuse me!" Blair yelled at me. "This is a closed practice!"

"Sorry," I said, and retreated back towards the auditorium. But then, the music began again. The finger snapping, the bass track, Todrick's lyrics: _nails, hair, hips, heels_. I should have gone back to the auditorium where I belonged, but I peeked into the gym and watched their routine from the start. It was simple enough - some prancing, some posing, a few jumps, and a backhand spring. I knew I could master it in only a few tries. So I began to practice in the hall on my own, only peeking in for the material I missed, until their practice ended.

I stood aside while the squad flooded into the hallway. Blair lingered in the gym, furiously writing on her clipboard. I approached and said to her, "I thought these were open tryouts. It said so on your flyer."

"Open tryouts for anyone who can make it on time."

"So is it too late?"

"I'm afraid so," she said with a fake regrettable tone. "You've already missed all of the first practice."

"But I didn't. I know your routine."

She scoffed. "You know the whole Todrick Hall routine?"

"Yes," I said.

"Prove it."

"Play the music."

Blair took a seat on the lowest row of the bleachers, scrolled through her phone for a moment, and brought up the song. "Five, six, seven, eight!" She called out, and started the music.

I jumped into the first pose, snapping my fingers and flipping my hair to the side with the rhythm. The lyrics began and I hit each move on the beat perfectly, and ensured my arms were as straight as they could go. I flew into a backhandspring, stuck the landing, and posed with my fists on my hips.

Blair stared at me, unmoved, and unimpressed. "Gabriella, isn't it?" She finally asked.

"Yes, Gabriella Montez-Kelekolio."

"Well, you can memorize the routines quickly. I suppose that's a plus, but you still have a lot more to prove."

"How?"

"Join us tomorrow after school. _On time_. We'll go from there."

"Thank you," I said, and went back to the auditorium to find the doors were locked. My stomach dropped into my gut like a rock. I rushed outside and found Sharpay's pink Tesla parked at the red curb. I ran in and hopped into the backseat with Lea and Emma.

"Where the hell were you?" Sharpay asked. "I've been trying to call you the last fifteen minutes."

Lea touched a bead of sweat dripping down my face. "And why are you _sweating_?"

"Gross, Lea." Emma said.

I considered lying, but ultimately decided against it. They were bound to find out eventually, especially with how much the hive loved to buzz. Lying would only exacerbate my problem. "I was in the gym with the cheerleaders. They had their first practice for tryouts and I learned the routine."

"Why would anybody in their right mind _ever_ want to become a cheerleader?" Sharpay asked.

I laughed. "Are you asking if I'm crazy?"

The car fell awkwardly silent. Sharpay sighed. "Gabriella, I don't like telling people what to do, but you know that we don't associate with _cheerleaders_." She said the term like they were an untreatable disease. "You can shake pom poms to your heart's content, but you can't do that and hang out with us." She thought she could mask her real intentions with this patronizing tone, but I knew what she was really saying. This was an ultimatum, plain and simple. Dump the cheerleaders or face the consequences. "The drama department could use all the help we can get. I don't understand why you wouldn't volunteer there first."

I didn't respond. Everything I wanted to say would burn this bridge before it was even built, and anything else would be an obvious lie. I didn't need Sharpay to micromanage my social life, and Sharpay didn't need to either, except to flaunt the most important thing she had over me: control.

* * *

Once I stepped inside and before the door could even close behind me, Melanie was already freaking out. "There you are! God, I've been trying to call you since I got home. The internet is broken!"

I dropped my bookbag to the floor with a heavy thud. "The internet doesn't _break_ , moron."

"It's not letting me on! What do you call that, _genius_?"

"A password, _Einstein_."

"Then what's the password?"

"I don't know!" I said. "Who set it up?"

"Mom, but she's not here."

I groaned in frustration. This was not supposed to be my problem. I took out my phone and dialed Mom's number.

"What is it?" Mom barked.

"Melanie is looking for the Wifi password."

"I'll text it to you," she said. "Anything else?"

"Where are you?"

"Check the fridge."

"What? Mom?" I looked at my phone and saw that she had disconnected the call.

"What did she say?" Melanie asked.

"To check the fridge," I answered.

Melanie led me into the kitchen and plucked a sticky note off the door. "Gone to Hong Kong," she read. "House cleaners come on Monday, and the gardeners on Wednesday. Call Grandma for anything else. Should be back in two weeks." Melanie stared sadly at the note.

"What is it?" I asked.

"She didn't say goodbye."

"So?"

"Mom always says goodbye."

I laughed. "You aren't a little kid anymore. Mommy doesn't have to kiss you goodbye every time she leaves."

Her lip quivered, and she took off upstairs before I could see her break down anymore. "Be a little appreciative is all I'm saying," I called after her, which didn't make sense, but it was all I could come up with in the moment. I felt like a total bitch, something a better person than I might apologize for, but it just made me blame Melanie. Her naivety and sensitivity was the real problem, not me.

My phone buzzed and I found a message from Sharpay. _Are u busy?_

_No, what's up?_

_Come over_

_Omw_

I walked down the street to her place and rang the doorbell, nervously shuffling my weight from side to side as I awaited sentencing. She obviously didn't call me here to coordinate matching outfits for another debut tomorrow. Whatever it was, it wasn't going to be good.

The door opened.

"Hey," I said.

"Peter McClement?" Sharpay responded.

"Wha-?"

"Don't act like you don't know what I'm talking about. Jackie told me he was with you when you came to the auditorium today."

I couldn't understand her point, but I knew better than to ask. I carefully explained, "We were partners in Biology today, and it was my last class before I was supposed to go to the auditorium. I asked him how to find it, and he offered to take me there himself. That's all it was."

"She said you two were talking - _laughing_."

"He's...funny?"

She shook her head in disapproval. "What am I missing, Gabriella? First you talk to Peter, and then you flake on my rehearsal to sprawl with the cheerleaders. You know, I'm starting to think Emma and Jackie are right...maybe you are meant to be a cheerleader."

After everything I did and everything Sharpay said to bring her and I to this conclusion, I still had no idea how we arrived. In less than twelve hours I had gone from Sharpay's hot new commodity to being threatened with excommunication. "Sharpay, I…" The silence of the night engulfed us the moment I hesitated. What was there left to say? What was there left to do? Apologize, bow down and kiss her ring, beg for forgiveness?

I stood there helpless on her doorstep and watched as she said, "Goodnight, Gabriella," and pushed the door between us closed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! As always, please let me know what you thought. Your reviews always make me so happy! :D
> 
> Also, if you happen to come across an obvious error like something wrong with the spelling, grammar, or otherwise, feel free to let me know. I saw on the last chapter that I completely neglected to finish a sentence. lol! I'm always very excited to get these chapters uploaded, maybe too excited, so some of those errors go unnoticed by me unfortunately. So if you find one and you happen to have time, please let me know and I will fix it for you ASAP.
> 
> Thanks again!

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you a million for reading. If you're in a giving mood, please be so kind as to leave me a review. I get so excited seeing a new review and I love reading what you thought about the story so far. If you want a prompt to get you started, I'm most interested in knowing what you want to see MORE of, either things you're anticipating in the upcoming chapters or more details for this chapter. Basically, what intrigues you most about this story so far?


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